Fifteen days slipped by in a blur of strange, newfound routine. Waking up in the Hunter's Quarters had started to feel almost normal. The grumbles, the smells, the way the light from the Spire painted the floor in the morning—it was all just part of the background now. My days developed a steady, predictable rhythm that was weirdly comforting.
There was the daily grind of food hunting with Lyra, Finn, and a now-silent-but-recovered Kora. We'd head out, stick to the safer, picked-over zones, and bag whatever we could find. It was honest, simple work. My main side project was still my "holy man" act. I'd pray before meals, help out where I could, and drop a kind word here and there. It was a part I played, but after weeks of it, the mask was starting to feel comfortable, like a broken-in boot.
Back in our bunkroom, I'd quietly work on my real to-do list. It was a mental catalogue of names, resources, and future opportunities. Sasrir, now a full Monster, was a silent partner in it all. He'd just watch from his bunk, a deeper, more substantial shadow than before. We didn't need to talk much; we both knew the game we were playing. For a little while, life wasn't about desperately surviving the next hour. It was about planning for next week, and that felt like a luxury.
Of course, the world outside our walls was in an uproar. The sudden disappearance of the Stone Saints and the crystal serpent sent shockwaves through the Dark City. They were the local hegemons, the top of the food chain in that sector. With them gone, it was like a power vacuum had opened up. All the mid-level Corrupted monsters went absolutely wild.
A massive, chaotic turf war erupted among the creatures. You could hear the distant shrieks and roars from the castle walls, a constant soundtrack of violence. The aggression wasn't contained, either. Patrols started reporting packs of beasts in areas they'd never been seen before, all fighting for new territory. The normal, dangerous paths we used became outright deadly.
The response from the castle leadership was swift and severe. Gemma and the other lieutenants called a halt to most long-range expeditions. Hunters and Pathfinders were pulled back from the front lines. Our job shifted from hunting to reinforcing the outer defences and guarding the closer supply caches. It was a clear sign that things were bad out there.
For a full week, strict rationing was put in place. The mess hall servings got smaller, and the grumbling got louder. Nobody was happy about having less to eat, but everyone understood the reason. Venturing out for a full-scale hunt was a sure way to get your whole team killed in the crossfire of a monster war. It was better to be hungry and safe inside the walls.
Through it all, Sasrir and I were the picture of innocent cooperation. We followed the new rules, stood our watches without complaint, and ate our meagre rations without a word of protest. We blended into the crowd perfectly. The idea that we, the "preacher" and his quiet shadow, were responsible for upending the entire local ecosystem was so absurd it never even crossed anyone's mind.
I'd hear the other Hunters talking about it. "Must have been a Spire Messenger that came through," one would say. "Or maybe the Saints and the serpent finally killed each other," another would guess. Almost the truth, but nobody considered the factor of two Dormants starting the whole thing.
The forced downtime inside the castle had an unexpected benefit. It gave me more time to work the social angles. I helped the Artisans sort through salvage, talking about finding purpose in broken things. I assisted the Handmaidens with their rounds, speaking about the virtue of compassion. With the Hunters stuck inside, I was there to listen to their frustrations, offering a calm presence.
Even Gemma seemed to view my "faith" with a sort of grudging acceptance. In a time of tension and short tempers, having someone around who was consistently, bafflingly calm was apparently useful. He didn't understand it, but he didn't stop it, either. My persona was becoming a solid part of the castle's social fabric.
Sasrir used the time to fully master his new power as a Monster. The deeper, more threatening aura he now carried made people give him an even wider berth, which he seemed to prefer. It also meant that on the rare, cautious patrols we did run, he could end fights before they even started. His control over shadows was now absolute and terrifyingly efficient. I couldn't recall of Nephis and Sunny experienced such a visceral change upon forming new Cores, but maybe it was also because Sasrir had digested his Shadow Ascetic and Listener Potion-according to him, only Secret Suppliant was stubbornly refusing to dissolve.
I had a plan for that, of course, but it would take another month or so to fit into place, at least three weeks.
After about a week, the constant cacophony from the Dark City began to die down. The monster turf wars seemed to be settling, new territories established. The castle leadership cautiously eased the restrictions. Rations slowly returned to normal, and small, well-armed hunting parties were sent out to test the waters. The crisis was passing.
Looking back, those fifteen days were some of the most productive we'd had. We'd gained immense personal power, solidified our positions, and watched as the chaos we'd unleashed actually worked in our favour, keeping everyone else contained and suspicious of the outside world. Perhaps Gunlaug had gotten lazy and content atop his throne, and the chaos proved an effective reminder that, Transcendant Echo be damned, he himself was just a Sleeper with a mediocre Aspect lording over other Sleepers. He wasn't invincible, and he couldn't even claim to be truly safe either.
All that is to say, when the curfew was lifted, he heightened the training of the Guards and instructed tighter watch from the Pathfinders. The Castle's poor performance during the lockdown seemed to have struck a nerve, because he also ordered Handmaidens to crack down on scavenging and the markets, while Artisans had to shift focus to certain products. The change was large, and unprecedented from my perspective: nothing of this sort had happened in the novel short of the Bright Castle Civil War.
We were back in our corner of the Hunter's Quarters, the relative calm of the castle feeling almost surreal after the chaos we'd indirectly caused. Sasrir, who had been quietly sharpening a dagger, finally broke the silence.